


Rain of a Thousand Dying Stars

by Cerulean_Phoenix7



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Blade Runner AU, Brienne POV, Brienne rocking a trench coat, Canon-Typical Injuries, F/M, Limb loss, Science Fiction, Secondary Characters: Olenna Tyrell, Secondary Characters: Petyr Baelish, Secondary Characters: Qyburn, Secondary Characters: Roose Bolton, Secondary Characters: Varys, Self Sacrifice, Use of Medical Morphine, cyberpunk leather aesthetic, meanwhile Jaime rocks an offensively low neckline, rated for violence; language; some body horror (apologies it's not for sexy times), secondary character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25779715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerulean_Phoenix7/pseuds/Cerulean_Phoenix7
Summary: “Yes, I have read your file. Your skills are why I requested you.”“What skills are you talking about?” Jaime asked from across the room, leaning against one of the plush couches with his arms crossed.“She’s a blade runner,” Tywin answered.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 63
Kudos: 94
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angel_deux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_deux/gifts).



> Prompt was "A modern AU where Brienne is convinced her feelings for Jaime are unreturned and she decides to back away from their friendship." I did decide to run with this prompt a bit and go with a sci-fi AU, as well as having Jaime and Brienne meet for the first time in this fic. I got the idea for this when a Blade Runner playlist appeared in my youtube suggestions and a giant lightbulb went off in my head. I also got a fair amount of inspiration from the upcoming game Cyberpunk 2077. 
> 
> A blade runner is a member of a specialized task force assigned to track down and retire rogue replicants. Replicants are bio-engineered, artificially created humans.
> 
> Thank you to aliveanddrunkonsunlight and jencat for reviewing this and helping to make it shine. Also a big shout out to the wonderful Dialects_and_Costumes for being there when I was yelling into the void about trying to finish this on time! XD

* * *

The city was alive. Beneath the rumbling engine of the skycar the streets thrummed with activity. From both above and below a thousand other cars streamed through the sky, each navigating one of myriad carefully plotted routes that would prevent a fiery collision. Brienne had read about such explosions once, in a book that she kept tucked into her shelf in her cramped apartment. They occurred many decades ago, during the chaotic infancy of skycars and before the birth of the Targaryen Transit Oversight.

Those days were long gone.

From her seat in the skycar, Brienne could see the outline of Lannister Corporation in the distance. It loomed on the horizon like a mountain rising out of the maw of neon rivers below. Outlined by a deep crimson haze, the building seemed outlandishly large to be a single structure, but Brienne knew that to the Lannisters, there was no such limit. Thanks to a tenuous contract with the Tyrells and the Baratheons, the Lannisters’ wealth appeared infinite.

A screeching horn rang next to the skycar. Brienne turned her head to see another car veer sharply around them, its taillights a blazing blur.

“Fucking idiot,” the driver muttered. He peeked in his mirror to look at Brienne. “You alright there, ma’am?”

Brienne swallowed. “Uh, yeah. Just some bad traffic, right?”

The driver shook his head. “That’s an understatement. I swear they allow more and more kids out into the air before they’ve even finished their ground training. Soon enough we’ll be seeing shit like we did back in the Inferno Days.”

The Inferno Days…that was something else Brienne remembered from that book. It was another name for the years before the Transit Oversight was formed. Some nights the sky would be lit with the blaze of a recent crash, and debris would fall from the sky like dying stars.

Ahead, the Lannister Corp. building grew like a giant, swallowing the sky and blocking out the light aside from the red glow that surrounded it. A single, curved lane set aside from the building allowed for skycars to briefly stop and drop off passengers. Remaining there, as Brienne had been told, was highly discouraged.

The driver stopped at the point in the curve closest to the building, which was still a decent distance from the car. For the first time, he turned and looked her in the eye.

“You know, it’s not my business, but what brings someone like you out here to this corporate hellhole?”

Brienne’s hand was holding the handle of the skycar door, seconds from turning it. Her jacket suddenly felt small, and she wished she could shrink herself to hide inside it. The weight of her pistol against her side grew like an anvil.

“Work,” she replied succinctly.

The driver fixed her with a pitying look. “My condolences.”

Brienne didn’t say another word as she opened the door and stepped out of the skycar. The path to the doors of Lannister Corp was an open stretch of flat, monochromatic pavement tinged in the red hue that encircled the structure. She heard the _whirr_ of the skycar’s engine as it flew off behind her. She straightened the collar of her navy trench coat and marched towards the entrance.

As she neared the structure, the skin on her neck and arms prickled. She scanned along the outside of the building. It was windowless, but she had an unnerving notion that a lack of windows wouldn’t stop a Lannister executive from observing her.

The entrance was almost invisible, if not for the faint outline that peeked through the dark, smooth stone. Brienne stopped in front of it. There was no call panel, not even a speaker for her to talk into. The wall around the door was a smooth, impassable face of concrete.

She was about to knock on the stone when a deep voice resounded above her.

 _“Who are you?”_ A voice boomed.

Brienne spun, searching for the source of the voice. She found none.

She swallowed. Her mouth was dry.

“This is Detective Tarth. I was summoned here by your Chairman, Tywin Lannister.”

Silence.

A siren blared in the distance, the faint scent of something burning wafted into her nose. The air was heavy against her slicked back hair. She waited.

A sudden _hiss_ erupted from the door, accompanied by a loud _clang_ , and the door sank back into the building, sliding aside to reveal a blinding interior. Brienne held up her hand to block out the light.

From the doorway emerged a figure, the light behind them so blinding that it was impossible to make out their features. When the light finally dimmed, Brienne lowered her hand and felt her heart jump like a stalled skycar.

Before her was one of the most striking men she had ever seen. His eyes were a deep emerald that caught an orange light from the sky, making them akin to embers that nearly glowed against his skin. His hair was short and neat and resembled the colour of sand. His jaw was mercilessly sharp, to the point that Brienne wondered if she would cut herself if she ran her finger along it. His skin had been gently tanned by the sun, washed with the crimson light that reached over his face like the longest arm of the setting sun. He wore black leather pants that draped over his legs and a sleeveless top of the same material. A deep vee in the shirt revealed a hint of curled chest hair. He raised his chain slightly, pointing it at her.

“Detective Tarth?” He asked sternly.

Brienne forced her hands to fall to her sides and willed them still. Uncertainty was not the kind of food one offered to lions.

“Yes,” she said.

The man nodded solemnly. “Follow me.”

Brienne slipped her hands into the pockets of her jacket and followed him. Inside the walls and floor were a crisp white tile that tossed every sound like a tennis ball. As the door _hissed_ shut behind her, Brienne picked up the chemical-laced scent of fresh paint. The man led her down a long hallway of the same tile until they reached a single white door with a heavy, curved handle. He pulled it open with a single motion.

Before he went through, he turned to look at her. “Once we’re inside you are to follow me only. Do not wander, understood?”

Brienne bristled, though her heavy jacket hid it. _Lovely fellow_ , she thought. “Completely,” she replied.

“Good,” he said, and passed through the door.

Inside, Brienne found herself in a large, almost cavernous room. The walls were covered with dark wood and marble, all crafted with immaculate and minute details that spoke only a whisper of the cost that had gone into them. The room was vaguely circular, and at its center was a large opening that dove further into the earth. Around the outside of the opening was a railing of the same dark wood, inlaid with rubies and carved lions from Lannister lineage. Above her, the room domed to a high skylight that let in a stream of soft, white light. As she followed Jaime along the perimeter of the rail, the skylight flickered for a moment, and then stabilized.

Now closer to the rail, Brienne peeked down to the levels below. For several levels down stretched more floors of the same marble and dark mahogany wood. Common to each floor was a circular, central opening that allowed light to drift down, until Brienne could see no further.

At the other end of the room, past the yawning gap, sat a solitary desk. Like the walls, it was also composed of polished white marble with a dark wood top. Twin lamps of wound black metal adorned each end of the desk like a pair of ravens. A young woman with the deep green eyes and blonde hair wound into a neat bun stood behind the desk. Her posture was rail straight, as if her spine were held up by a thread, and the shadows beneath her eyes hinted at secrets Brienne suspected weighed more than mountains.

Jaime tilted his head towards Brienne. “She’s with me. Let my father know that we’re on our way.”

The woman replied with a monotone “Of course, sir” before Jaime led Brienne through a pair of double doors stained the colour of bleeding cherries. Beyond lay a hallway, the floors a deep granite and the walls the same hue as the doors they’d come through. Spaced out along the wall were a series of ornate lamps, each one wrought in stunning gold. Sound bounced through the corridor like a rogue bullet, and Brienne’s footsteps echoed like gunshots through her bones.

“So, Detective Tarth,” Jaime glanced back at her, “what made you want to be a detective?”

Brienne shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Jaime pursed his lips and tilted his head in a half shrug as light danced across his cheekbones. “Humor me. I’m curious.”

A shock of cold unease swept through her. The man may be enticing, but experience and instinct warned her not to trust the suave exterior as anything other than a clever guise.

“You didn’t seem curious about me earlier,” she replied coolly.

Jaime stopped and turned to face her. “And?”

Brienne swallowed and felt the hairs on her neck and arms prickle. “Why now?”

Jaime crossed his arms, the leather of his shirt tugging against his chest. “You know what? Never mind.” He turned away from her and continued down the corridor.

Brienne stared at him for a moment, her brow tightening. He didn’t stop to look back at her, ask her what she was doing. She almost wished he would. Wordlessly, she followed him.

At the end of the hall, the floor rose upward into a ramp that Jaime ascended without pause. Brienne waited a moment at the bottom, and then followed. At the top, another pair of double doors greeted them, made of the same dark cherry wood but adorned with golden handles with a roaring lion perched on top. Jaime placed a hand on each and in a single motion, pulled the doors open.

They opened into a wide room bathed in crimson light. At first, Brienne thought that every piece of décor in the room was black, but as she looked closer, she noticed flecks of gold and shades of red throughout the room. To her left was a broad shelf of leather-bound books framed by a twin set of plush couches. To her right, a series of marble consoles inlaid with digital displays. Strangely, as soon as Brienne noticed them, the screens went dark.

Ahead of her was a long, sturdy desk made of polished wood that seemed too large for even the tallest man. Behind the desk, a wing-backed chair sat empty. Past the chair the far wall consisted of a series of windows that reached from the floor to ceiling. A single figure stood in front of one of the windows, his form awash in the crimson glow. The light obscured any detail of his face and cast a shadow from his boots to the doors where she and Jaime had entered. He turned, and the smattering of shadows revealed the steeled face of Tywin Lannister. In a few calm, steady motions, Tywin moved to stand by his desk.

“So, Detective Tarth,” Tywin began as he placed a hand on the desk. “You’re the one who got swept up in this latest batch of misery?”

Brienne blinked. “Excuse me?”

Tywin remained stern. “You’re not the first Detective to come into this office, and I would suspect you won’t be the last. I do hope the fate that befell your predecessors does not also befall you.”

“I think you’ll find that my skills are more specialized than whatever previous inadequates you’ve had,” she replied, her tone firm.

Tywin’s eyes fixed on Brienne in an unblinking stare. “Yes, I have read your file. Your skills are why I requested you.”

“What skills are you talking about?” Jaime asked from across the room, leaning against one of the plush couches with his arms crossed.

“She’s a blade runner,” Tywin answered.

Jaime’s turned towards her instantly, his eyes ablaze with a fire of realization. “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me how you became a detective?”

Brienne straightened her spine, sheathing herself in a familiar cloak of deflection. “I like to keep a low profile.”

“Which is wise, given the nature of your work,” Tywin interjected.

“With respect, Chairman, it’s much more habit than wisdom. You do this for long enough and you learn how to operate.”

Tywin gave her a thin smile. “Of course. Then I’m sure you’re familiar with how we operate here, and why the threat we received this morning is another serious concern.”

“Are you saying you’ve had threats like this before?” she asked.

Tywin chuckled. “My dear, I’ve received these threats since long before I became Chairman of this company. In most cases, it is a trivial inconvenience.”

“If it’s so trivial then why did you call me?”

“Because this time it wasn’t minor,” Jaime interjected, bracing his hands on the back of couch.

Brienne crossed her arms. “By that you mean…”

“There was a bomb,” Tywin replied.

Brienne raised a brow. “A bomb?”

“Yes,” Jaime replied.

She pressed her lips together, concern steadily building inside her. “And you know for certain it was a bomb because…”

“Because I found it,” Jaime said.

Jaime’s nonchalance startled her. “And where was it exactly?”

“Beneath this very office,” Tywin replied coolly.

Brienne’s felt as if a fuse had been lit inside her. Her heart started racing. “Is it still there now?”

Tywin glanced away from her and let out a huff. “Do you really think we’d be having this discussion here if it was?” His tone was sharp and condescending, like a school teacher scolding a child.

She let out a breath and felt the fuse of her fear extinguish. She brushed aside the annoyance his tone elicited, willing those embers to cease rumbling for the time being.

“Where is it now?” She asked.

Jaime leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his thighs. “It’s in a secure room. One that’s designed to withstand high-yield explosions.”

“You say that as if I should find it comforting,” Brienne replied dryly.

“My father and I are the only ones that know about it,” Jaime replied.

Brienne nearly laughed. The infamous Lannister confidence never ceased to outgrow reasonable bounds.

She swallowed her humor before offering her next question, carving out a rigid space with her words that left no room for hesitation. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Completely,” Tywin replied.

Brienne felt a weight grow in the pit of her stomach. Lannister certainty was too often a shroud for something far more devious and dangerous, and she was not about to let Tywin Lannister so easily push this aside.

“Jaime,” she said, watching him perk up like a young lion. “Would you excuse us for a moment? I need to speak with your father alone.”

Jaime, still half-perched on the edge of the couch with one elbow on the thigh of his bent knee, glanced to his father, who nodded. He stood and strode for the doors, exiting without a sound.

Once the doors closed with a soft _thud_ , Tywin fixed her with a piercing look. “Is there something else on your mind, Detective?”

“Actually, there is,” Brienne replied. “You mentioned that you’ve received threats before…is there anyone who has made repeated threats against you?”

“Several,” Tywin replied.

Brienne squared her shoulders and quashed the sigh that pressed against the underside of her tongue. “Any one of them made repeated threats against you _recently_?”

Tywin shrugged, his hands rolling so that the palms face upwards. “Detective, threats are the language of this business. This is why I have security. I don’t trouble myself with examining the minutiae of every passing hostile comment that my competitors make, because then I would have no time to run my business. And, quite frankly, their opinions mean absolutely fuck all to me.”

Brienne raised a brow. “They might mean something if you end up blown to pieces because one of them planted a bomb under your ass.”

Tywin smirked. “Which is why I requested you, Detective. The sooner you find out who attempted this, the sooner I can resolve it.”

Brienne’s patience had worn thin like a tripwire. “Is it a replicant that planted the bomb? Because unless a replicant is involved in this I fail to see what use I will be to you.”

Tywin was silent for an astonishing second before replying. “This morning one of our security systems picked up an unauthorized entry along our cargo receiving platforms. We don’t know who they are, but we do know that they are not one of my employees. They left no fingerprints, no biological markers, nothing. We suspected a replicant immediately, an older model but one still in commission.”

“And that’s why you called me,” Brienne added.

“Precisely,” Tywin said.

“Then I need to see the bomb,” she insisted. “I can’t investigate anything if I don’t have any leads. That device is the only thing we have that leads back to the suspected replicant.”

“Very well,” Tywin said as he moved behind the desk. He pulled out the plush wing-backed chair and sat down. “Jaime should be outside. He’ll take you to it.”

Brienne peered over her shoulder towards the closed double doors. She felt a knot in her stomach. Jaime was a unique type of man, the kind formed in the flash of an explosion that occurred when bravado and mystery collided. He intrigued her, like an open case: equally full of possibilities and danger.

“Something else, Detective?” Tywin asked pensively.

Brienne realized that she had been staring at the door.

“No, nothing. You’ll hear from me if I have further questions.” She marched for the door a little quicker than she’d intended, but with one hand firmly wrapped around the lion-adorned handle, she had no intention of admitting it. She found Jaime outside, leaning against the wall only feet from Tywin’s office. The cool light from the ceiling cascaded down and caught the edges of his cheekbones and jaw. She wondered if the skin there was as smooth as it appeared but silenced the thought instantly. On the slick marble floor, Brienne saw Jaime’s face reflected in the light, the shape of him distorted so that the sharpness of his features swirled against the tile.

“So, tell me,” Jaime began. “How helpful was that conversation?”

Brienne pressed her lips together. “You do know that I can’t tell you that, right?”

“It’s a yes or no question,” Jaime replied.

The knot in her stomach coiled like a snake ready to strike. “Everything is helpful, in its own way,” she said. Straightening the collar of her jacket she added: “Your father told me that you can take me to where the bomb is.”

Jaime tilted his head, his brow rising conspicuously on his face. “I can, yes.”

She watched him for a moment, waiting for him to take the first steps down the stairs, but he kept leaning against the wall. He looked at her expectantly, with an air of curiosity that swept the protection of her jacket off her shoulders and left her bare. Rather than suffocate through her own confusion, Brienne pressed forward. “Then let’s go,” she said.

An incredulous expression swept Jaime’s face, but he turned without protest and began moving down the ramp. Halfway down, he paused and turned to her.

“You remember what I told you when you first arrived?” he asked.

Brienne nodded, the knot in her stomach tightening. “Follow you and don’t wander.”

Jaime nodded. “Good.” He continued down the ramp in smooth strides, Brienne trailing behind him. The light in the corridor was dimmer than it had been earlier. Whether that was to reflect a change in time or simply an aesthetic choice, Brienne did not know. The dim light deepened the hue of the wall, making it resemble dark blood. Shadows bloomed from the far-off corners of the hall, and Brienne wondered if the thunderous echo from her boots would rouse something from their depths. Her spine turned to ice as she moved down the hall towards the cherry-red doors at the end. Jaime stood there, holding one open for her as she breezed through. She was striding for the desk with the same woman she had seen on her way in when Jaime grabbed her arm.

Her breathing picked up immediately. “What are you-?”

“We’re not going that way,” Jaime told her. His grip was iron-hard and firm. He jerked his head towards a corridor that was adjacent to the door they had exited. She studied it for a moment…had that been there before?

Brienne tried to steady her breathing, but each breath through her nose felt like a roaring wind and Jaime was no closer to loosening his grip. In that moment the sharp angles of his face resembled the edge of a knife.

“First, let go of my arm,” Brienne replied sternly.

Jaime dropped her arm without a word, and she felt the absence of his hand immediately. “Follow me… please,” he said, and moved into the corridor. He stopped at the threshold where the light from the rotunda could not reach and fixed his eyes on her, waiting for her. His gaze wasn’t predatory, she knew that look like a siren in a blackout. This one was warmer, but resolute. He was keen on fulfilling the task at hand, but without malice or cruelty.

She followed him.

The hall went on long enough that Brienne wondered if they had circled the entire room before they came upon a locked door. It was not as ornate as the ones that marked the entry to Tywin’s office. This one was a dull silver, the colour of utilitarian steel. The door handle was a simple curved ‘C’ shape that stuck out from the door, made of the same unremarkable material. A glowing touchpad and shiny retinal scanner stood out from the wall. Jaime placed his hand against the touchpad and held his face in front of the scanner. A single blue beam washed across his face as the touchpad lit up. A few seconds later and the red light over the door turned green with a _click_ , and Jaime pulled it open. He held the door open for her again, and with a measure of hesitation, she went through.

The sight before her set her mind ablaze with wonder.

She was no stranger to megastructures or complex architecture; Westeros thrived on the same kind of design. What she saw before her was a novel feat of engineering. The size of the Lannister Corp buildings had left a great deal to the imagination, and Brienne had always found herself wondering what use such an obnoxiously large building could serve? She had passed it off as ego fuelled by more currency than most of the world could ever grasp. What she saw confirmed that and more.

She and Jaime had entered a massive space that stretched beyond where she could see to. Above, the ceiling looked as distant as the moon, as if the space before her were another world entirely. Tall, metal silos and beams stretched above her like skyscrapers. The walls were lined with thousands of translucent pods that were filled with a thick fluid that nourished the developing replicants inside. Walkways sliced through the open space like black cobwebs. Some even had figures walking along them. The towers were speckled with rows of blinking lights, and if there had been less light in the facility, Brienne would have thought she were looking at room full of stars.

The air was heavy and humid, likely from the machines whirring and wailing around her. She felt sweat gathering at her hairline. She opened her mouth to ask Jaime something when a door to their right opened with an aggressive _clang_. Out of it walked a man in a crisp uniform the colour of an overcast sky. His hair was slicked back but curled at the ends. His jaw was slim and angular, coming together in a triangular chin. His mouth curved into a long, thin smile, as if someone had carved it onto his face.

“Mr. Lannister!” the man said, strolling over to greet them.

Brienne felt the skin on her arms prickle, and the sensation washed down her spine like a river as he approached them. She pressed her arm to her side and felt the hard outline of her pistol.

“Ah, Dr. Qyburn!” Jaime replied. “Doctor, this is Detective Tarth, she’s helping with an investigation.”

The doctor’s brows rose immediately. “An investigation?” His mouth opened in a look of knowing realization. “I certainly hope it’s nothing serious. Nevertheless, I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it, Miss Tarth.”

“It’s detective, actually,” Brienne replied, the nerves in her body tensing. She was tempted to press on, but the doctor presented another opportunity for information, even if he did make her skin crawl like a swarm of beetles.

“Doctor, I’m curious, what exactly is this…facility we’re in?” She asked with a raised brow.

The delight flickered across his face faster than a solar flare, but Brienne caught it none the less. “Why this is the synthetic generation plant. It’s where all of our replicants are grown and matured before they’re given personalized features.”

“Personalized features?”

“Hair, eye colour, skin tone adjustments. Anything specifically requested for the model before they’re given their memories,” Jaime replied.

“And if there are no specific personalizations requested, well, then we give the unit features based on what our current quota requires. The most popular models take precedence, of course.”

“Are all the memories individual?” Brienne asked.

“Not necessarily,” Qyburn said. “The personalized models will often have a specific set of memories programmed into it, and the complexity of these can range from…remembering someone’s name to full years of life. It depends on the requestor’s preference. The more complex and detailed the memories, the more intricate the personality and emotional responses of the unit will be. Of course, that also means the price is much, _much_ greater than one of our standard models,” he explained, a smirk spreading across his face. He fixed Brienne with a pensive look and held it, almost as if he were studying her. He then glanced to Jaime and back to her, “Mr. Lannister, Miss Tarth, this has been delightful, but you must excuse me. I have some mitochondrial prototypes that need attending to.” He then dashed between Brienne and Jaime and whisked himself away into the miasma of gleaming metal.

Brienne followed his steps until he vanished into the expanse of glistening pods; she half expected him to reappear the moment she turned her eyes away. She crossed her arms. “He’s a rather…interesting man.”

Jaime dipped his head and chuckled nervously. “That is…one way of describing him, yes.”

Over his shoulder, Brienne noted the door that the doctor had come through just moments earlier. “Is that the way to go?”

Jaime’s eyes followed hers. He turned back to her and nodded. “Yes, that’s it.”

“We should get going then,” she insisted. She could only imagine the potential result of an abandoned explosive with no known fuse or trigger. Jaime had never mentioned disarming it.

They moved past the towering rows of shimmering sacs, each one held securely by an intricate web of thin, silver wires that formed an ornate nest around it. On the lowest row, Brienne made out the half-formed face of one of the replicants and quickly looked away. Seeing one still growing was like seeing a painting with half the image still missing; like looking upon a gaping hole and expecting it to fill itself.

The door opened with a screeching yawn when Jaime pulled the handle, echoing like a wail through the warehouse. He stood firmly with his hand around the handle and looked pointedly at her.

Brienne blinked at him for an instant and then walked through, taking only a few steps before pausing to wait for Jaime. She was in unfamiliar territory, and she was a fan of caution when her next step could be a tripwire instead of a tile.

Jaime brushed past her. “This way,” he said. He moved down the corridor in swift strides. Ahead, it branched off like a tree, offering a quartet of possible paths. Without hesitation, Jaime took the furthest right path and Brienne followed. The walls in the corridor were made of polished wood, though it was lighter than the one in Tywin’s office. The corridor tapered into a smooth, steel door. Another touchpad as well as a keypad were embedded into the wall. Jaime held his palm to the scanner and a cool, female voice spoke from the panel.

“State your name.”

“Jaime Lannister,” he replied.

A ring of acceptance sounded from the console as Jaime’s palm was outlined in bright green. He dropped his hand and punched a series of numbers that Brienne couldn’t see into the keypad. The door unlocked with a dull _clunk_. It receded into the wall and Jaime passed through with Brienne trailing close behind him.

The room they were in was covered from floor to ceiling with dark, dull metal panels. Round metal studs held each panel in place, a method that Brienne hadn’t seen for nearly twenty years. The walls were punctuated by a few bright neon panels and low ambient lights that soaked the floor in a soft, blue light. A plush, black carpet sliced through the centre of the room from the door she and Jaime had come through to the other side, where a tall door the colour of scuffed obsidian sat in the wall. Thin lines of neon blue outlined it, casting a blue glow over the dark metal. Jaime made his way across the room, his shoulders taut and jaw stern. He stopped only feet from the door. Brienne couldn’t see any touchpad or number panel, and no voice spoke from the bowels of the room to ask Jaime for his name. Instead, Jaime spoke a single line: “the lion is to the land what the dragon is to the sky”.

A loud _clunk_ echoed through the walls. The door at first seemed to slip aside, and then Brienne realized the entire wall was moving, opening like a curtain of steel. The two sides parted in a slow, heavy motion where each movement came with a heavy _thunk_ from within the walls. The parting wall revealed a shallow, luminescent room the colour of cobalt with a brick pattern etched into the walls. Jaime moved his head from side to side briefly, and then dashed forward to the threshold.

“It’s gone,” he said.

Brienne felt her heart rate pick up. She rushed forward to meet him and saw that the room was empty.

“How?” she asked.

“Someone must have broken in and taken it?” Jaime replied.

“Who else knows about the bomb?”

“My father and I were the only ones,” Jaime answered.

“Check the access records for this room,” Brienne directed as she stepped into the empty hold room. “Someone must have been in here between you bringing the bomb in here and us returning for it.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Jaime’s brows rise in surprise, and then he nodded and strolled towards one of the bright consoles in the large metal room. She pulled out a small blacklight from her pocket and flicked it on, bathing the floor in violet light. A sweep over the room revealed nothing: no fingerprints, body fluids or hair. Brienne let out a disappointed sigh and hastily shut off the UV light and shoved it back inside her coat.

“Brienne!” Jaime called. “I’ve found something!”

She stepped over the threshold of the hold room and marched across the hard metal floor towards Jaime. He looked almost a shadow against the light of the console. She stepped up to the right of him, glancing at the screen.

He turned his face to her, his features painted in bright neon. He almost looked like one of those signs she saw hovering hundreds of feet over the city streets. “There’s only one other record,” he said.

The name on the screen was clear enough that Brienne wondered if it would sprout legs, crawl out of the screen and strangle her. She felt her throat tighten.

“We need to find Qyburn,” Brienne insisted. “And your father needs protection, better yet, get him out of this facility.”

Jaime shook his head, “My father will never leave.”

Brienne glared at him. “He can either leave willingly while he’s still alive or go out in a body bag. The choice is his. Personally, I know which one I’d take.”

Jaime dipped his head, letting out a breath. “We’ll have to contact my father’s security detail. Though he still may refuse to leave.”

Brienne felt annoyance crawl into her skin. She knew too many people (often men) who thought of danger as nothing more than a breeze that passed them by. Most of them were dead. “Well, you know how he’ll definitely refuse? If we don’t insist that he leave the facility, so get to it.”

Jaime raised a brow and stood back to his full height. “Alright. We’ll need to find a comm panel; there’s none in this room.”

“Is there one nearby?” she asked, her mind searching her memories for anything that may have been a comm panel in the journey there.

Jaime nodded. “Yes. We’ll need to take a different route to get to it but that shouldn’t cause trouble.” He marched over to the far right of the open wall and pressed something that Brienne couldn’t see. With a creaking lurch, the walls slid back together, meshing into a complete and seamless whole that hid the glowing blow room that she and Jaime had been studying moments earlier.

He moved back to the center of the room. “Let’s go,” he said. Brienne stood and joined him at his side as they moved briskly out of the room together. They took the long, polished hall back to the node where multiple other paths branched off to destinations unknown. While Brienne paused, Jaime refused to hesitate and whisked himself down the center path.

“It’s this way,” he said, ushering her onwards.

Brienne dropped her hands to her sides and quickened her pace to catch up with Jaime. As they moved further down the hall, the polished wood turned back to the white marble she had seen earlier, and the lights in the ceiling grew brighter and stronger. Ahead, a pair of maroon double doors blocked their way. Jaime didn’t waste a moment and punched a code into the keypad next to the door. An electronic _ping_ echoed through the hall, and then the doors swung open for them. Past the doors, the air was light and pinched with hints of tobacco. The ceiling, which was once smooth and flat, begin to pitch upwards, rising into a vault several feet above Brienne’s head. The corridor emptied into a wide, circular room with doors equally spaced out on the walls. The floor was the same white tile she had seen in the reception area earlier.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“My father’s personal quarters,” Jaime replied. “His was the closest communication panel.”

“You have access to your father’s personal quarters?” she asked.

Jaime gave a shrug with a slight tilt of his face. “It’s not like he uses them that much.” He opened the tech panel on the wall by the doorway they had come in. Red and blue lights lit up the screen as Jaime entered a series of commands. An angry _beep_ sounded from the console a moment later.

“This is strange,” Jaime said. “It says that the communications are blocked.”

“Blocked, how?”

Jaime shook his head, fingers still resting against the console. “I’m not sure.” He studied the console for another moment. “I’m going to try re-wiring it, then I’ll see if I can get through.”

“Wouldn’t it be faster to just go up and find your father?”

Jaime shook his head as he peeled back the front of the console. “No, we need a comm line to connect to him and the security team. This won’t take long.”

Brienne suppressed a quiet scoff. She scanned the room they were in. Two corridors branched off in opposite directions from the main room and appeared to end abruptly. The room was devoid of decoration aside from the golden chandelier adorned with glittering crystals that hung from the ceiling. She took a few steps around the outside of the room, passing one closed door after another. When she reached the first corridor that branched off, she noticed one of the doors was open slightly. Peering over her shoulder, she noted that from his position and due to the placement of the wall, Jaime was not able to see it. With a slow, careful step, Brienne pushed the door in with her fingertips. She paused and waited for an alarm, but none went off. She pressed her entire hand against the cool surface of the door and slipped inside.

She whirled around the door and pushed it shut behind her. She was in an apartment. One scan of the room revealed that it was hardly decorated, the walls mostly bare aside from a coat of arms and crimson banner with a roaring lion on it. The apartment was sparse in terms of furniture, but what furniture was there was revealing in its lack of personality. A single couch and chair sat near the row of opaque windows opposite the door. Behind it, a large wooden table stood guard in the dwindling light. In front of the chair and couch was a sturdy coffee table, and on it were a series of scattered papers. She dashed over to the table and flipped them over one by one, skimming the headings for anything of interest. She put them down almost as quickly as she picked them up, until she reached one of the last ones. At the top was the banner for Tyrell Industries, and bolded in the header were the words **Custom Replicant Request.** Brienne skimmed the page. The initial details were unremarkable; _gender: male, build: athletic with lean muscle, hair: blonde, eyes: green,…_

Then she saw the name that was assigned to the replicant, and her stomach dropped like a brick off a canyon.

_Name: Jaime Lannister_

“What are you doing in here?” A voice interjected.

The sudden voice made her jump, and Brienne looked up to see Jaime standing in the open doorway. The bright light cascaded around him and onto the floor, casting his features in shadow. If not for his voice, she wouldn’t have recognized him.

She stood from her crouched position. “I was investigating,” she replied swiftly.

“I thought I told you not to wander,” Jaime replied.

“I wasn’t wandering; the door was open,” she added.

Jaime let out a puff of air. “Regardless of how you got in here we need to leave. I’ve got the comm panel working and I’ve sent a message to my father’s security team; they’re getting him out of the facility.”

Brienne crossed her arms, tucking the papers under her arm. “Good, that’s one less thing for us to worry about while we search for the bomb. Did you ask about Qyburn?”

Jaime shook his head, the light scattering through his golden hair. It reminded Brienne of light scattered across a pond.

“Nothing,” Jaime said. “I’ve got the Security Chief running a sweep but Qyburn’s badge has been deactivated. They’re far more concerned about finding the bomb, as you can probably imagine.”

“Shockingly, I can,” she retorted.

Jaime’s eyes drifted to her arms. He tilted his head towards the papers under her arm. “What are those?”

Brienne struggled for a moment. “Evidence,” she lied. Well, possibly a lie.

Jaime stepped into the room and held out his hand towards her. “Let me see, I need to know what it is you’re taking.”

Brienne pursed her lips. “What makes you think I would show you evidence for an ongoing investigation?”

“Because if you don’t show me then it doesn’t leave this room,” Jaime replied.

She held the paper for a moment, remembering Tywin’s words. Could Jaime…? No, surely not. Why cooperate? Why take her to where the bomb had been stored? There had been countless chances to remove her entirely if he had wanted to. Brienne exhaled and handed the paper to him. Jaime turned it in his hands, his brows knitting together as he examined the page, making the smallest hint of crow’s feet materialize around his eyes.

Jaime looked back at Brienne. “The page is blank,” he said.

Brienne felt a pang of confusion. “What?”

“The page is blank,” Jaime repeated. He turned the page back to her, still full of the details she had viewed moments earlier. “Why are you so interested in a blank page?”

It dawned on Brienne like a solar flare: Jaime wasn’t _meant_ to see the page. One of the most profound and unsettling features of replicants was the range of customization in their design, down to their memory. There had never been a recorded case of a custom visual blocker before.

Jaime let out a breath of air with a low _hiss._ “It doesn’t matter. We need to go.” Jaime tossed the page on a bench next to the door and hurried out of the room, leaving Brienne alone. She glanced to the door and then back at the bench. She pulled her communicator out of her pocket and flipped the page so that the text faced her. She flicked her thumb over the screen and took a picture of it before placing the paper back on the table and dashing out of the room.

In the marble foyer, Jaime had ripped part of the comm panel open, leaving wires hanging like brightly coloured snakes. A crackling sound burst from the speaker, followed by a smooth, male voice.

_“Jaime, this is Bolton, do you copy?”_

“Loud and clear on my end, Roose,” Jaime replied.

_“Your father is clear of the facility.”_

“Good, thank you.”

 _“There’s something else,”_ Roose added.

Jaime leaned against the comm panel. “And what might that be?”

_“They’ve found the bomb.”_


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne race to stop the detonation of the device planted by a rogue replicant. Time is against them, and a bomb isn't the only thing waiting for them in the generation plant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time! First off, apologies for the wait on this second part as it grew into something much larger than I was anticipating. Second, please note the updated tags on this work (most are there for reference but some are content related).
> 
> Again, thank you to aliveanddrunkonsunlight and jencat for your amazing beta work in helping me finish this.

* * *

“Where is the bomb?” Jaime asked, the tendons in his neck tight like wires.

_“The central generation plant. Jaime, if it detonates in there…”_

“I know,” he said, cutting Bolton off. “We’ll take care of it.”

_“We? Who’s with you?”_

“A blade runner,” he replied.

Brienne heard a muffled curse on the other end of the line.

_“A blade runner? Christ, what the hell else is going on in there?”_

“Just get my father to safety. Do not return to the facility until I signal you.”

A pause.

_“Understood, Bolton out.”_

The line crackled and went silent.

“The generation plant is where we met with Qyburn earlier,” Brienne said.

Jaime unceremoniously shoved the tangle of loose wires back into the wall and slammed the covering back over the comm panel. “It’s also where more than half of Lannister Corps replicant models are created. We lose that facility, and my father’s company will be crippled.”

“We need to move,” Brienne insisted.

Jaime slapped the cover into place. “I couldn’t agree more. Let’s go.”

They took off in a sprint, blasting through the doors to Tywin’s quarters and rushing down the hall, past the node of pathways and through door after door until they were once again in the corridor of polished wood that led to the generation facility. The steel door ahead loomed like a monolith and both Jaime and Brienne rushed towards it with every ounce of strength they could conjure.

Jaime reached the door first and pulled it open, letting Brienne dash through before he followed. Brienne stopped to catch her breath, her eyes scanning around the facility. Row after row of generation pods gleamed back at her, a low _hum_ rumbling through the floor.

They were the only ones in the facility.

“Where is everyone?” Brienne asked.

Jaime moved over to one of the metal silos, punching in a few commands into the fluorescent console on its surface. “Looks like an alert for a contaminant leak was triggered, but there is no leak.”

“Someone rigged the bomb and the alert? Why?”

Jaime studied the console. “Maybe it’s not the people they’re after, maybe it’s the facility, and the replicants themselves.”

Brienne pursed her lips. “There hasn’t been any kind of anti-replicant movement for decades. Why would they resurface now?”

“I don’t know,” Jaime replied. “It looks like there’s something attached to the central processor in the generator room. It’s this way.” He motioned to his left, around the side of the massive silo.

She stood her ground. “I can’t.”

Jaime stopped, his boots squeaking against the floor. He turned back to her, his face rife with confusion and marred by lines of frustration. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I need to find Qyburn,” she said.

“And I need to find that bomb,” Jaime replied. The lines on his face softened. “Look, we have no idea where Qyburn went, but we do have a lead on the device. Help me find it and get rid of it, and I will help you find Qyburn.”

Brienne shook her head. “The longer we wait the further away he can get from here. I need to go.”

Jaime took a few steps towards her. “Tell me, which of these sounds better to you? Detective Brienne Tarth, blade runner, walks away from ruins of detonated Lannister Corp in search of replicant, or, Detective Tarth, blade runner, saves Lannister Corp from replicant explosives?”

The options were laid out before her like a pair of cards, both face down, and she wouldn’t know the outcome until she picked one and flipped it.

She walked over to Jaime, and he continued moving towards the central processor. Brienne matched his pace, and when they rounded the silo she realized the massive scale of the facility. Thousands of pods lined the walls past half a dozen more silos, each one lined with a series of blinking lights. A soft red glow bled across the floor from a row of wide panel lights that lined the wall where it met the ground.

“Here it is,” Jaime said, motioning towards a pair of steel double doors. They parted like water when he pressed his palm to the touchpad at the door. Brienne took a step forward and Jaime’s hand shot out to stop her. She gave him a puzzled look

“You might want to wait a moment,” he said, and pressed a few more keys on the console.

Dozens of thin, glowing lasers appeared in the doorway, spreading from the floor up beyond Brienne’s head. Her brows shot up as her lips parted.

“What is this?”

“Thermal laser defense systems,” Jaime explained. “These lasers are hot enough to cut through skin and bone. Walk through a few of these and you’ll be in pieces when someone finds you.”

Brienne swallowed. Laser systems were not unfamiliar to her, but something about this one made her uneasy. Perhaps it was the heat, or the low, rumbling hum she felt in her feet as she neared the processor room, she couldn’t be sure.

“Can you shut it off?” she asked, stuffing her clenched, sweaty hands into her pockets.

“Working on that now,” Jaime replied.

With a few deft movements of his fingers over the keys, the lasers dissolved and the doorway was open to them again. They walked in together, their footsteps echoing through the room.

It wasn’t particularly large, and it was devoid of features save for the tall column of blinking lights in the center of the room.

“That’s the central processor?” she asked.

“A part of it,” Jaime said. “It runs through the entire facility; this is just a part that’s accessible here.”

The column was over ten feet tall and stretched from floor to ceiling like the trunk of thousand-year-old tree. Blinking buttons and panels covered its exterior from the middle upwards, with the lower part being covered in sheets of firm, shining steel. Wires weaved between the panels and back under the shell of gleaming metal like a network of roots.

At the base of the panel, affixed with a muddy, dark gel, was the bomb. It was a single round cylinder the colour of obsidian, and its defining feature was a rectangular panel midway along its length that displayed a set of bright red numbers.

The time read _04:59_ and was decreasing with every second.

“Shit, we’re running out of time,” Brienne said. “Is there any way to get the bomb off of there?”

Jaime shook his head. “That gel will have hardened by now. If we try to remove it, we risk pulling apart the bomb and setting it off. Defusing it would be a better idea.”

Brienne blinked at him. “You know how to defuse a bomb?”

Jaime fixed her with a bemused look. “I was hoping you did.”

She raised a brow at him. “Bomb defusal is not part of my job description.”

Jaime’s mouth was slightly agape. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find another way.”

Brienne studied the metal plating that coated the lower half of the processor. The small ridges of metal bolts outlined each piece where it had been attached to the column. An idea lit up like a neon sign in her mind, and she placed her hand on the panel, running her fingers over the smooth ridges of the bolts.

“What is it?” Jaime asked.

“If we can’t remove the bomb, maybe we can move it away from the processor in another way.”

Jaime’s eyes darted to the panel, seemingly tracing its outline. “Those panels are fused to the support conduits underneath. We can’t just pry it off!”

Brienne’s hand fell flush with the panel as she let out a huff of air. “If the panel was fused to a metal conduit, then we can use the same method to separate it, can’t we? Heat can cut through metal just as easily as it fuses it.”

“And it could also set off the detonator, which is right at our _feet_ ,” Jaime implored.

Brienne stood; her height equal to Jaime’s. “Which would you prefer? The bomb going off and destroying this facility, or trying to get this free so we can potentially save your father’s precious work?”

Jaime swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the smooth flesh of his throat. Brienne pressed her tongue against her teeth.

“I’ll find an ion torch,” Jaime said, moving back towards the doors. “We’ll need some kind of covering to keep sparks from flying onto the bomb and igniting it!” he called to her.

“Just be quick about it!” She called back.

She scanned the room and cursed its cleanliness. There was no scrap of metal to be found, not even a few slivers of shaved steel. Brienne eyed the blood-red timer on the device, its numbers slowly decreasing.

At three minutes remaining, Jaime returned. He walked through the doors with a torch in one hand and a sheet of polished metal in the other.

“No time for gloves or anything,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind a few beauty scars.”

Brienne quirked a brow at him. “I’ll consider them mementos.” She did not mention the collection she had already accumulated over the years, smatterings of scars and marks that scattered across her ribcage like mangled stars.

Jaime held the piece of metal out to her, the ends wobbling slightly. “I need you to hold this.”

Brienne took the sheet in her hands. “I didn’t realize that metalwork was part of your job description.”

Jaime snorted something between a laugh and a sigh. “It’s not. I just happened to pick up a torch a few times out of boredom and managed to not slice my own hand off.”

Brienne tilted her head at him. “A monumental achievement, I’m sure.”

Jaime perked at her sarcasm. “Funny, but we really need to get this panel off.”

“Just tell me where to hold it,” she replied.

He motioned to the side closest to him, and then traced out the path he would take, a single, smooth arc that would free the part of the panel with the bomb attached to it. With just over two and a half minutes left, she pressed the metal plate against the column and heard the _woosh_ as the torch ignited. A bright blue glow illuminated Jaime’s face, painting him with the hue of an exploding star. He moved in a smooth, careful motion, both of his arms outstretched to control the flame. Brienne diligently followed his movements, careful to keep her hands as far as she could from the sparks. Her eyes flicked between the timer and the bright blue flame. When Jaime reached the top of his arc, Brienne’s attention focused on the timer for a second too long, and Jaime’s hand slipped. He bumped the panel, nearly sending it flying from Brienne’s hands. Her left hand held on as the metal _screeched_ against the panel, while her right hand scrambled to make purchase again. When she did, the panel had slipped so it was only inches from the bomb.

Jaime let out a sigh of relief. “Shit, be careful!”

Brienne fixed him with a furious look. “You hit the damn thing in the first place!”

Jaime’s brows knitted together, forming peaks in his forehead. “Only because you weren’t paying attention!”

Brienne let out a huff. “I’m not the one with an ion torch in my hands.”

Jaime opened his mouth to respond and closed it just as quickly. His eyes shifted away from Brienne and back to the processor. “Let’s just finish this,” he said. “We’re running out of time.”

She glanced at the timer. Two minutes left.

“Here,” she said, placing the panel back against the shell of the processor. Jaime resumed his original path, coming back down on the other side of the device. When he had about a third of his path left, he stood and leaned down to reach the space more easily. In the process, he became perilously close to Brienne, enough that she could smell the woody muskiness emanating from him.

 _Replicants who wear cologne?_ She thought, wondering what other human habits Jaime had accumulated in his lifespan. A light went off like a flare in her mind when she realized that any of Jaime’s actions that seemed strange to her, would not be so to Jaime.

The ion torch shut off with a soft _fwoosh_.

“Okay, we’re done,” Jaime said.

Brienne set the metal panel aside and stood. She and Jaime both looked down to the device, where only a minute and thirty seconds remained on the timer.

“I hope you have a good idea of what to do with this thing,” she replied, monotone.

“I do, actually,” he replied, his tone light. “In the main facility area there are isolation pods beneath the floor. They’re sometimes used for replicants with defects or other unforeseen issues that need more critical attention. But they can also double as a shielded refuge if needed.”

Brienne crossed her arms. “So, you think it will contain the blast?”

“We’re about to find out,” Jaime said, and reached for the newly torched piece of panelling. He motioned for her to take the other side with a lift of his chin, and with deft caution, they carried the panel out of the processor room.

Brienne’s heart thudded in her ears. She had to shift focus from keeping her breathing level to ensuring that she didn’t drop her end of the panel. Jaime led them across the floor of the facility, winding around one of the metal silos before stopping next to a round hatch in the floor. He glanced back at her; his eyes soft but concerned.

“Can you hold this for a moment?”

She almost took it as an insult but noticed the panel of controls on the side of the silo and nodded. She moved her right hand so that it was next to Jaime’s and motioned for him to go to the console. He slowly released his hand and dashed for the panel, his fingers flying over the keys before his feet had stopped.

She checked the timer. 50 seconds.

 _Fuck_.

“Jaime, hurry!”

He didn’t look away from the console. “I am aware of that, Brienne.” He pressed a few more commands into the console and the hatch opened, yawning at Brienne’s feet like a hungry mouth. A mechanical _creak_ echoed beneath her feet, and then seized, like a great metal heart struggling through a clotted artery.

“What is that?”

Jaime’s mouth tightened into a thin line and he shook his head. “I can’t get the pod fully out of the hatch. We’ll have to get the device down there ourselves.”

Brienne peeked over the ledge. In the darkness, she could see a hint of shiny glass, along with what looked like metal valves. It didn’t seem unreasonably far, but that could quickly change once she was down there.

Still, it had to be done.

She held the panel with one hand while she slipped her other arm out of her jacket. Jaime looked up from the console as she switched the panel to her free hand and shucked her other clothed on out of the jacket.

“What are you doing?”

The skin of Brienne’s arm brushed her pistol. “Making it easier for me to move,” she replied. “Jaime, I need you to hand me the panel once I’m down there. We can’t risk dropping it in.”

Jaime moved from the console to her side. “You’re sure about this?”

Brienne didn’t falter. “Absolutely. I need you up here at the controls.”

Jaime held out his hands. “Then let me hold onto that.”

Brienne nodded and passed the panel to him, their fingers brushing as Jaime wrapped his over the ridge and Brienne released hers. She lowered herself to the edge of the portal and used a single hand for balance as she swung her legs over the side and jumped in.

There was a moment where she felt nothing but the rush of air around her and then _clunk_ ; her feet hit the top of the pod. Her hands found the pod next, fingers pressed against the cool exterior. She immediately steadied herself and looked up to Jaime, who was standing over the opening with an expression akin to a concerned deer.

Brienne moved directly below him and outstretched her arms. “Pass it to me. Carefully,” she said.

Jaime nodded and knelt next to the ledge. He held the panel in his left hand and lowered it over the edge towards Brienne, but his arm was just a few inches too short for her fingers to reach.

The timer loomed like a set of angry red eyes, and Brienne’s blood ran cold when she saw that the timer only had twenty seconds remaining.

She pushed herself up higher, standing on the very tips of her toes and stretching her arm as far as she could. Her fingers scraped the bottom of the panel and slipped off, like water off a wet rock.

 _Fuck_.

She glanced back at the timer. Fifteen seconds.

 _FuckFuckFuckFuck_!

“You’ll have to throw it to me,” she told Jaime.

His expression looked as if she’d just asked him to kick a small animal.

“What?”

Ten seconds.

“There’s not fucking time, just do it!” she yelled.

Jaime did as she told him and dropped the panel towards her waiting arms. Her hands caught the bottom of the panel, metal biting into the skin of her hands. It wobbled slightly, the weight of the bomb shifting the balance and sending it tilting towards her face. Before she could right it again, the panel toppled out of her hands and went tumbling towards the floor.

Their time was up.

“Brienne, up here!” Jaime shouted, extending his hand to her. Brienne leapt and caught his hand with hers, desperately grasping for the ledge with her other hand as Jaime pulled her up. She had half her body back on the facility floor when she heard the detonator released a loud, aggressive _beep_ the wailed out of the opening. Brienne flipped her other leg out of the hole, but before Jaime could pull her away, it detonated.

The explosion rippled through the floor like a wave, sending cracks spidering through solid stone and tossing plumes of dust into the air. Brienne and Jaime were tossed into the air as a hot plume of flame and smoke burst from the pod hole. Brienne felt an instant rush of heat up her arm that quickly morphed into scalding pain. She screamed and pulled her arm away, her nerves burning. She tore her other arm from Jaime’s grip and pressed it to her pained arm. Pressure sent white hot sparks shooting through her nerves, so she pulled her hand away from her injured arm. She turned her hand and through tears and smoke, she saw her hand coated in dark crimson. She tried to curse but the words stuck in her throat like misplaced gears that tried again, and again to turn, but remained locked.

Jaime rushed to her side, his eyes darting from her face to her injured arm. She heard her own breath rush out of her mouth in shallow gasps.

“Brienne,” he said, his voice like a distant song. “Can you hear me?” She dipped her chin enough to tell him yes.

Jaime nodded once, and then a few more times as he assessed the damage. “Alright, there should be a medical kit nearby. Don’t go anywhere,” he said before taking off. Brienne almost laughed.

Above her, the plume of fire had set the ceiling alight with thousands of tiny flames, each one burning like an ember. All around her, pieces of burning material floated down from the ceiling towards her. Blurred by the smoke and the welling of tears, the burning debris cast long trails of light across her vision, like a storm of falling stars. She blinked once, and the downpour remained. A piece settled a foot away from her, scorching the stone floor before disintegrating.

Footsteps to her right alerted her, and she turned to her right to see Jaime returning with some kind of aid kit. He knelt next to her and flipped it open, taking out a small syringe.

“This is morphine,” he said, flicking the needle with his finger before pressing it into her thigh. “It’ll help with the pain.”

Brienne didn’t protest. Morphine was an old drug that had been out of primary circulation for twenty years, but it still found its way into the bowels of Westerosi streets and the covert hospitals that operated out of back alley shops. Now, Brienne knew that it had meandered into one of the largest megacorporations on the planet. Moments after Jaime injected her, the pain in her arm ebbed away like a shallow tide, receding along the fibres of her nerves until a dull throb nestled beneath her skin. Finally, her vision cleared.

Jaime dropped the empty syringe back into the kit and pulled out a roll of gauze bandage. He reached for her hand and Brienne pulled it away, pain striking her arm like a lightning bolt.

“What are you doing?” she asked hoarsely.

Jaime withdrew his hands. “I was going to wrap your arm. It might help to slow the bleeding and prevent any bacteria from entering your wounds until we can get you to a hospital.”

“You mean you don’t have one here?” she asked.

Jaime’s lips pressed together. “No, we don’t.”

 _Well, that’s fucking inconvenient_ , she thought.

Jaime rolled his lips together and met her eyes. “Will you let me bandage your arm?”

Brienne swallowed, her throat filled with knives, and moved her hand closer to Jaime. He gently picked up her arm with his hand and wound the bandage around. He was gentle, which reassured her greatly. When he got to her fingertips, he told her that he’d have to wrap the bandage around _all_ of her fingers, as there wasn’t enough to wrap each finger individually.

“You’re sure there isn’t enough?” she asked.

Jaime let out a puff of air. “It’s only for a short amount of time, Brienne. I think you can make do without those fingers for a few hours until you’ve been treated.”

“Hmm, I hope you’re right,” she said.

“Brienne, there’s no one else here. It’s not like you’re going from this into a criminal chase. You’re not exactly in the best condition for that anyways.”

Brienne sighed, a lance of pain shooting down her arm in the process. “Alright, it doesn’t seem like I’ll be able to convince you otherwise.”

Jaime nodded as he wrapped the gauze around her fingers. “Thank you.” He finished by tying the bandage and lowering her arm.

“That should help, at least for now. It certainly doesn’t look pretty, but it’ll keep you from bleeding out on the floor.” He stood and moved towards the console across the hatch from her.

Brienne lifted her arm to be within view. The bandage was already darkening with blood along her forearm and wrist, puckering with wetness that would likely seep through in short time. The nerves in her right arm sparked like live wires, sending small bolts of pain rushing through her body with every movement.

 _It certainly doesn’t look pretty_. Jaime’s words echoed through her mind like a clap of thunder. Pretty was a word that she hid on the back of her bookshelf behind the decades-old law books that she hadn’t laid a finger on in years: something she found once and had hidden away.

Using her uninjured left hand, Brienne pushed herself into a seated position. Her right arm still ached, and she grimaced through each movement she made. Her pants and shirt, though already a deep black, were darkened by bloodstains and burn marks.

 _So much for these_ , she thought.

A series of _beeps_ from the console, followed by a curse, caught her attention. She turned just as Jaime slammed a hand down on the console.

“What is it?” Brienne shouted.

“I can’t close the hatch!” Jaime replied, fingers dashing over the keys. “The explosion hit an exhaust pipe under the floor and it’s venting hot fumes into the room! We need to leave.”

Brienne’s eyes searched the facility for exits and found one nearby. The same set of doors that had first brought her to the facility. She curled her legs under her, and using her good hand, slowly stood. The air was heavy and filled with ash from the explosion. She coughed; a harsh, throaty sound that made her lungs feel like they were full of sandpaper.

A mechanical _clang_ pierced the air, drawing both Brienne and Jaime away from the source of the explosion and towards another hatch that was slowly opening about twenty feet from them. Metal doors parted, allowing its isolation pod to rise into the facility. The opaque door of the pod swung open on the opposite side from Brienne’s view, and someone climbed out, their feet hitting the floor with a loud _smack_. The footsteps moved around the rear of the pod as a plume of smoke passed in front of Brienne’s face. When it cleared, Qyburn stood in front of the pod.

He noticed them within moments. “Miss Tarth,” he said, his voice reverberating through the room. “This is certainly a surprise.”

Her brows rose as her head tilted in a look of disbelief. “As much of a surprise to see you here, Mr. Qyburn.” She took a few steps toward him. “Tell me, what exactly were you doing in that pod?”

Qyburn’s mouth puckered as if he’d swallowed a bowl of sour fruit. “I was…completing a test on this pod and was, most inconveniently, locked inside when the alert sounded.”

“And which alert was that?”

“The one for the containment leak, didn’t you hear it?”

“We didn’t,” Jaime replied as he stepped up next to Brienne. “There was no containment leak. It was a false signal.”

Qyburn’s face lit up like a beacon. “Oh my, that is certainly an issue. We’ll have to schedule a diagnostic on the scanners in the building’s air filters once all… _this_ has been resolved.”

“That would be the most logical action, wouldn’t it?” Brienne inquired, her tone like a knife prodding at his sincerity. “If you hadn’t created the false alert to begin with.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Qyburn retorted.

Brienne fixed him with a glare. “We found your authorization code in the room where the bomb was kept, which you moved to the central processing unit. You triggered a false alert to clear out the facility staff and yet you stayed behind…maybe you could tell me why?”

“I already told you, I was completing a test on this pod w-”

“When the alert sounded, yes, I heard you the first time,” Brienne interjected. The pain in her arm crackled like embers in the wind and she winced.

“Then I fail to see why you don’t believe me,” Qyburn replied. “Perhaps you would do well to check the-”

“We don’t need to check anything,” Jaime interrupted. “You took the bomb, planted in the processor and then hid in the isolation pod to ride out the explosion. It doesn’t matter why. We detected an undeclared replicant entering the facility this morning, and it certainly is strange now that we find you here, during all this, claiming to have not done any of it.”

Qyburn’s face paled. He lowered his chin, his expression fixed and piercing.

“You will not stop me,” he said, the words coming out in a low, throaty warning. Without another second of questioning, Qyburn darted for the facility door nearby.

“No!” She yelled, taking off after him.

“Brienne, wait!” Jaime called behind her, but Brienne didn’t hear him.

Qyburn disappeared through the door in a wisp of movement, letting it drift close on its own behind him. Brienne grabbed the handle seconds before it closed and pulled it open again, flinging it open wide enough for Jaime to dash through behind her.

“Where is he headed?” she asked Jaime.

“This corridor only leads to one place: the rotunda.”

“You mean that reception area?”

“That would be the one,” Jaime confirmed as he urged her more quickly down the hall. She kept her injured arm close to her body to try and absorb any impact from her urgent steps, but it did not ease the burning sensation that spread across her skin. She resisted the urge to touch it.

“This way,” Jaime said, motioning towards the start of a long, curved corridor that Brienne had traversed only hours before. Footsteps echoed ahead of them. Brienne pushed her pace but was quickly slowed by a shot of pain up her arm. She cursed as a half-strangled cry clawed its way from her mouth.

Jaime’s eyes darted to her instantly. “Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing,” Brienne answered, quickly dismissing it. “We need to keep going.”

They rushed around the final leg of the corridor and out into the open space of the rotunda. Piles of debris were scattered around the reception area, including a large slab that had crushed the desk a young woman was standing at when Brienne first arrived. Ahead of them, Qyburn rushed for the opening in the center of the room. Brienne’s eyes darted towards the doors on the opposite side of the gap. She reached awkwardly for her pistol, bending her good arm behind her in order to wrap her fingers around the grip and pull it from the holster. She flicked the safety off with her thumb as she raised and aimed it.

“QYBURN!” she shouted. Her voice echoed through the room like a siren in a canyon.

He stopped at the rail and raised his hands. Qyburn turned, foot first, to face them both, his back to the rail.

“Come now, Miss Tarth, surely we can find an amenable solution?”

She kept her gun fixed on him, the sensation unfamiliar in her left hand. The barrel trembled against her fingers.

“The most amenable solution, _Mr. Qyburn_ , ends with you in custody.”

His eyebrows climbed on the vast expanse of his forehead. Qyburn’s lips thinned as his eyes drifted to her injured arm.

“My, my,” he whispered. “That looks quite severe. I hope you’re able to get some medical attention soon. I would hate to think of the consequences if that goes untreated.”

“You should be far more concerned with your own wellbeing at the moment,” Jaime said. He’d moved to the opposite side of the rail from Qyburn, his face turned to watch the wanted man but his body ready to rush into a chase.

Qyburn’s eyes drifted first to Jaime, and then to the open path on his right. Brienne adjusted her aim. It had originally been for his chest, now she moved it higher.

“What do you accomplish out of all of this?” Brienne asked.

Qyburn let out a breath, his shoulders dropping like waves. “Let me tell you a story, Miss Tarth, one that I heard many years ago. Once there was a boy who liked to play in the woods, and he found a bird that was alone, separated from the flock. The bird had the most intriguing song, one unlike anything the boy had ever heard before. He followed the bird back to his town, back to his house, and sat with the bird at the back of the home. The bird sang its song for him again. The boy was so engrossed with the bird’s singing, that he did not smell the smoke inside his home, did not see the flames that climbed up onto the rooftop. He only noticed it when the embers fell from the roof above, scorching his skin as the house collapsed on top of him. The bird, startled but uninjured, flew away.”

Brienne let out a breath of air through her nose. “Enough of your stories. You have two options. Surrender to me, or I put a bullet through your skull. What will it be?”

Qyburn smiled. “I choose to fly.”

He then spread his arms out and stepped back, tumbling over the edge of the rail. Brienne and Jaime both shouted as Qyburn fell into the abyss beyond. They dashed for the rail but were too late to reach the replicant before he descended down through the catacombs below.

Brienne watched as his body fell into the darkness. His body flipped and turned through the air, arm flipping over leg as he tumbled down. Some ten feet below, a wet rustling sound trembled through the air, and Qyburn’s body broke apart like glass, scattering below in a thin rain of blood and bone.

Brienne slowly looked over to Jaime, who shared her expression of shock.

Jaime dropped his head and let out a heavy sigh. “Laser defence grid,” he said.

“Seems to be no shortage of those in this place,” Brienne muttered. She moved back from the rail and straightened as another bolt of pain shot through her arm, this time reaching through her shoulder and into her chest. She let out a cry and dropped to her knees.

“Brienne? Brienne!” Jaime knelt next to her and grabbed her arm. His grip was firm but warm.

Her heart thudded in her chest as darkness brimmed at the corners of her vision. She heard the loud _clack_ of her pistol hitting the floor and braced herself with her left arm. Her other arm burned as pain bubbled through her veins. Dread set in like a fog, heavy and cold on her skin.

Her left arm wobbled, and she collapsed onto her side. Jaime shouted something at her, but his voice seemed distant. Darkness swept across her vision, and the last thing she saw was the fractured light bleeding into the room from the skylight above.

* * *

“Tell us again, Detective,” Tywin dictated. “What happened when you confronted the Qyburn replicant?”

Brienne squared her shoulders and tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. It had been three months since the explosion at Lannister Corp, and the meetings and reviews appeared endless. This was her fifth meeting with Tywin and his board members, though given the gruelling atmosphere of the meetings it felt far closer to the hundredth.

“Jaime and I had chased him back to the reception area in the rotunda. Qyburn was delirious and repeating nonsensical stories as a method of distraction. When he attempted to attack me, I shot him.”

Tywin and his board members remained stoic.

Varys, a short and broad fellow in a loose black suit with as much hair on his head as grass in a desert waste, leaned forward in his chair. “Detective, you were with Mr. Lannister the whole time, was he attacked by the replicant at any point?”

Brienne shook her head. “No, he wasn’t.”

“It’s curious that the Qyburn replicant chose to only focus on you.”

“Well, I was pointing a gun at him,” Brienne retorted.

“ _It_ ,” corrected Petyr Baelish. “Don’t grant something individuality when it has none.”

Brienne tilted her chin and fixed him with a decisive look. “Forgive me, Mr. Baelish, but Qyburn seemed quite sentient to me.”

Baelish sat in a lounged pose, with one leg crossed widely over the opposite thigh and his fingers threaded together in his lap. He wore a crisp black suit with red tie and matching pocket square. On his lapel was a pin in the shape of a mockingbird. “How fortunate, that the Detective who shot it, thought that the replicant was alive. Tell me, Detective, would you shoot something that was alive?”

A huffed sigh escaped the lips of Olenna Tyrell, who sat next to the other two board members. Clad in a deep emerald pant suit with gold trim, she exuded confidence and wisdom that few dared to challenge. “You both spend so much time arguing over what is and isn’t alive, that sometimes I wonder if you’ve forgotten about the living altogether. Detective Tarth nearly lost her life trying to take down this rogue model.”

Brienne glanced down at her right arm, now replaced by a glinting metal prosthetic that reached up to her elbow. The coldness still bit into her skin even weeks later.

The Tyrell matriarch’s inclusion was, according to rumor, hardly Tywin’s decision and more of a concession. To who, or what, Brienne had never heard.

“That’s enough,” Tywin insisted. “It is fortunate that no human lives were lost in the explosion, but we cannot ignore the destruction of close to three thousand models. This has set back our quotas by _months_.”

“Do we have back up models to replace them?” Baelish asked.

Tywin folded his hands on his desk, his shoulders flanked by the vast expanse of his plush wingback chair. “Some, but that won’t replace the custom models that were due for release within the next six months. To synthesize new ones will take double the amount of time.”

“I’ll investigate options,” Baelish chimed in. “The resources are out there, Chairman, we just have to find them.”

“Good,” Tywin replied. “We’ll need all of them. That’s all I have for you today, you may go.”

The board members rose and filed out without pause, leaving Brienne alone.

When the door to Tywin’s office had finally closed, he spoke: “You did well, Detective.”

Brienne gritted her teeth. “I can’t say I had much choice.”

Tywin leaned forward onto his desk, staring at her for a moment before nodding. “No, you didn’t. Choice is not a pre-requisite; it’s a luxury, one that I hope you will take more care with.”

She gave no response.

Tywin stood and walked around the far side of his desk, his hand slipping along the polished surface of the desk as he did so. When he stopped, his figure blocked out the setting sun so that his long shadow washed over her, enveloping Brienne in a dark cloak.

“I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your injuries,” Tywin added.

 _I’m sure you are_ , Brienne thought.

“If that’s all, Chairman, may I go?”

“No,” Tywin said flatly. “I have a new task for you, one that Commander Stark approved herself.”

Brienne knew that tone well. Lannister words had long been painted in shades of green and gold, and Tywin had decided to douse the precinct in a layer of his own. Catelyn had cautioned her about the Lannisters early on in her career, and now Brienne was seeing the true depth of her warning.

“And what might this task be?” Brienne asked monotonously, trying to conceal the distaste in her tone.

Tywin reached across his desk to press down on a single black button. “I need you to hunt down a replicant.”

When he pressed the button, one of the windows across from her flickered to a screen, showing a recording of a crowded corridor bustling with dozens of people.

“This is the Oldtown transportation hub, approximately twelve hours ago. Overseer Daenerys Targaryen sent me this footage when she noticed something of interest in about…five seconds.”

Brienne studied the footage, her eyes scanning across the screen for anything of note, and then she saw him. Just within the left edge of the footage for a few seconds, but it was enough to make out his slicked hair and wickedly carved smile.

“Qyburn,” Brienne noted.

“Indeed,” Tywin added. He pressed the button once more and the screen flickered off, turning back to the glowing sunset that had previously been there. “Now that you’ve seen this, I want you to find this replicant, and question him. I want to know who built this model, and what they’re after. Let me make myself perfectly clear on this, Detective, I want this replicant _alive_.”

“Of course, Chairman,” Brienne said, swallowing the response that was desperately trying to crawl its way out of her throat.

“Now you may go,” Tywin said firmly.

Brienne stood and adjusted her jacket before strolling for the door, her metal arm bumping against her side.

“Oh, Detective?” Tywin asked.

Brienne froze steps from the door. “Yes, Chairman?” she asked, keeping her back to him.

“I received an interesting security report that you had accessed my personal quarters, is there a particular reason why you did so?”

Brienne scrambled for words. “I was searching the area for evidence.”

A pause. “Did you find anything of interest?”

Brienne swallowed, remembering the weight of paper pages on her fingertips. “No, Chairman, nothing at all.”

She heard a bemused chuckle. “Then stay the fuck out of my quarters,” Tywin added sharply.

Brienne left without another word.

She made her through the building, past the workers repairing broken walls or clearing piles of debris, until she reached the reception. She paused for a moment to glance at the rail and imagined a flock of midnight-black birds flying out of the abyss below it. She shuddered and carried on, rushing through the doors that led out of the building.

“Detective!” a voice called.

Brienne turned and found none other than Jaime Lannister whisking himself towards her. When he approached, he lowered his voice so that only she could hear him. “Sorry, I wanted to catch you before you left. How is your arm?”

Brienne lifted her metal arm, watching it glint in the light. “It’s…alright. Better than having no arm.”

Jaime nodded, his eyes jumping to meet hers. “I made sure that you got the best model.”

Brienne blinked several times. “What?”

A confused look bloomed on Jaime’s face. “Didn’t they tell you? I was the one that made sure you got a prosthetic. My father was…far less enthusiastic about the idea.”

Heat rushed up Brienne’s neck, and for once she desperately wished that the collar of her jacket was a touch higher. “Well…thank you,” she said.

Jaime nodded. “Of course. I don’t suppose my father mentioned the name to you, did he?”

Brienne shook her head. “He didn’t.”

Jaime’s mouth opened in an expression of realization before he closed it with a dip of his chin. “It’s called Oathkeeper,” he replied. “If you need my help again, you know how to find me.”

“That I do,” Brienne agreed, already thinking ahead to the task looming over her.

“Be safe, Brienne,” Jaime said, turning on his heel and departing in a series of quick steps.

She moved swiftly towards the final set of doors and out of the building, the stone exterior of the building parting to reveal the cityscape blanketed in the rich, pink light of sunset. She stepped out of the building and navigated across the hard, dusty ground as the setting sun wept across the horizon.

* * *

_Fin_

* * *

A/N (Part 2): Thanks everyone for reading and for all the lovely comments I've received thus far. I did want to talk about the end of this story, as I'm sure some of you are wondering what happens to Brienne after this. On that note, I wanted to say that I am planning on writing more in this universe. I tend to think of this story as a sort of "Pilot episode" for this universe. An introduction, as it were. My original idea was much more extensive, but I had to narrow it down for the purposes of time. I'm planning a future story that takes a deeper look at the conflict and political structures within a cyberpunk Westeros, as well as bringing in more characters from GoT. It will also delve more deeply into Brienne's recovery from losing her arm and how that impacts her life. There are some other things I will be including as well, but those are a secret for now.

Thank you again to angel_deux for the great prompt!


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